


Imposition

by handahbear



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Massages, Masseuse Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handahbear/pseuds/handahbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is a masseuse, which his friends take full advantage of. All of his friends, except for Enjolras. Not that Grantaire minds. Of course he doesn't mind. It's not like he would sell his soul for the chance to lay his hands on him, or anything, no, not at all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imposition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [endofnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofnight/gifts).



> I have absolutely no knowledge of masseuses, chiropractors, or minor shoulder injuries. I beg your pardon for the probable inaccuracy of my portrayal of the three.

Grantaire was good at his job. He had been told on more than one occasion that his hands were magic, and while he didn’t quite believe this was true, he knew he was a good enough masseuse to actually make a living out of it without having to take a bevy of other jobs on the side. Truth be told, he enjoyed his job. He enjoyed being able to, in a way, help people, even if it was something as simple as helping them relax after a long day or working the tension out of their neck after a particularly stressful week. 

His friends took full advantage of his services, which was to be expected, he supposed. It wasn’t like he minded. It was good practice and Grantaire liked being able to do something useful for them. They never came directly to his studio or made an appointment with him, but they would casually drop hints whenever they met up together, and Grantaire would sigh or roll his eyes, but in the end he would smile and set to work.

Grantaire knew that Combeferre carried his tension and stress right between his shoulder blades, and that Courfeyrac would be putty in his hands and agree to anything he wanted him to in exchange for a neck massage. He knew that Feuilly would never ask for it, but on several occasions he had offered, and Feuilly had accepted, a variety of different massages, until Grantaire found out that to truly get Feuilly to relax, he had to work on his lower back. It became almost habit for him to take Jehan’s hands in his, one at a time, and massage them gently whenever there was a lull in conversation or activity and they were seated close enough to one another for such contact to be possibly.

He knew each of them in turn, knew where to press and knead and work at until each of his friends would relax beneath his hands. Grantaire knew each and every one of his friends, save for one. Enjolras had never asked him for any of his services, nor had Grantaire been comfortable enough to offer. It was a casual, natural thing for him to offer to any of his other friends, and just as natural for them to accept or to ask him first, but Grantaire could not bring himself to ask Enjolras. If Enjolras asked him, he decided, he would gladly provide whatever service he could, but until that day came, he wouldn’t ask, and if the others thought it odd, they said nothing at all.

In the end, it was Combeferre who approached him. Grantaire had been seated on Courfeyrac’s couch, almost absentmindedly working on massaging Bahorel’s shoulders while he occasionally glanced over at the television, observing the progress of whatever movie Courfeyrac had seen fit to put on. Combeferre sat down beside him, and Grantaire turned towards him, smiling.

Over the years, he and Combeferre had formed a close friendship, one born originally out of their mutual interest in Enjolras (though Combeferre’s was in a more platonic fashion than Grantaire’s), but that had eventually expanded into true friendship. They talked often and learned from each other, spending hours discussing topics of mutual interest or concern. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait in line,” Grantaire said, turning part of his attention back to Bahorel. “I’ve promised Joly that I would work on his neck after I finished.” His tone was light, almost teasing. 

“Not today. Another time,” Combeferre replied, smiling. “I’ve already taken advantage of you twice this week.”

Grantaire raised one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m always happy to help. You know that.”

“You should start charging,” Courfeyrac offered from his position in an armchair. “You could be rich.”

He laughed. “I have enough paying customers, thank you. Besides, I could never charge any of you. I’d feel like I was stealing from you. This is a service I willingly provide, and in exchange, all of you put up with my many eccentricities.” Grantaire grinned, tapping Bahorel’s shoulder lightly. “All right. You’ve had enough; it’s Joly’s turn now.” 

Grumbling good-naturedly, Bahorel shifted to allow Joly to take his spot. Grantaire set to work, then turned back to Combeferre. “Was there something you wanted?” he asked. “You came over here looking like you had a purpose, though if you just came to sit, you’re more than welcome to do so.”

“I wanted to ask you a favor,” Combeferre began. 

“Shoot.”

“Feel free to say no.”

“You know I will. I’m terribly selfish.” He flashed another grin at Combeferre.

Combeferre snorted, but continued. “Enjolras would never ask, and I don’t think you’ve noticed, so you wouldn’t have thought to offer, but he’s been having some trouble with his shoulder, and I was wondering if you’d work on it.”

Grantaire glanced up at him, trying and failing to keep the look of surprise from his face. “You know I’m not a chiropractor, right?” he said tentatively, trying to give himself some time to think. He knew that Enjolras had injured his shoulder several times in a variety of ways, and that it was not unusual for some slight pain to flare up now and again.

He nodded. “I know you’re not. It’s not a chiropractic problem, in my not quite professional opinion. It’s more of a ‘sleeping on it the wrong way and now it’s actually rather painful’ kind of problem. Not bad enough to see a chiropractor, but bad enough that some pain pills need to be taken and movement is generally avoided.”

“Hmm,” Grantaire hummed noncommittally. “Has he asked you to ask me to take a look at it and try to work it over a bit?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” Combeferre replied. “You know he’d never ask. I was just wondering if perhaps you’d offer. You don’t have to, of course. But I thought you could, if you wanted to.”

Grantaire thought for a moment, still working on Joly’s neck. “Do you think he’d even accept?” he asked after a moment. “True, I haven’t ever offered before, but…do you think he’d take me up on it if I asked?”

It was Combeferre’s turn to think. “You can tell him I told you to ask him about it,” he finally answered. “And if he does say no, well, he says no.” Combeferre shrugged. “That’s the worst that can happen.”

No, Grantaire thought. The worst that can happen is that he can say yes. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help Enjolras. He did. The problem lay in the fact that he’d had feelings for Enjolras since the day they’d met, and since that day he’d been trying and spectacularly failing to push his feelings for him away. Enjolras was quite obviously not interested in him, and was blatantly so far out of Grantaire’s league that he may as well have been a god. Grantaire didn’t need any more reasons to care for him than he already did, and he certainly didn’t need to touch him any more than the brief brushes of sleeves and hands that occurred naturally.

Grantaire opened his mouth to say that he would consider it, but something made him say instead, “Sure. Where is he, anyway?” Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras all shared an apartment, and normally Enjolras would have been right there with all of them crowded into the living room and kitchen.

“His room,” Combeferre replied. “He’s working on some project or other. Apparently it was very important, so I left him to it, though I made him promise he’d come out to see all of us soon. I’m giving him a bit more time, and then I’m breaking down his door if I have to.”

Grantaire nodded, finishing his work on Joly’s neck and turning his full attention towards Combeferre. “Should I ask him now or when he emerges, then?”

Combeferre seemed to be weighing the options in his head. “Ask him now, before he’s finished with whatever it is that he’s so intent on finishing. He needs a break, and I did tell him I’d be forcing him to come socialize, though I suppose the two of you could stay in his room if you liked. It’s getting to be a bit crowded out here, and as soon as you leave someone’s like to take your seat for their own.”

Wonderful. Yes, let’s stay in his room, all alone, whilst I work the knots out of his shoulder. Yes, lovely. Brilliant plan, Combeferre, thank you so much for coming up with it. Grantaire nodded. “You should come with me. Make sure he doesn’t bite my head off.” He smiled, though the possibility still lingered. While he and Enjolras got along much better than they had when they first met, and could even be considered friends, there were still days when the two of them would have shouting matches, just like old times. Of course, the major difference was that now, one of the two of them would apologize for being out of line, and one of the two would forgive the other, and life would move on as normal, instead of one of the two refusing to apologize while the other sulked or threw cutting glances at the other.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t do that,” Combeferre assured him. “But fine, yes, I’ll come with you. I’ll drag him off of his desk chair if I have to. Come on.” Combeferre stood up, clearly expecting Grantaire to follow him. Sighing softly to himself, Grantaire stood as well, following Combeferre down the hall to Enjolras’s room.  
Combeferre knocked three times, receiving a curt answer after the third knock.

“Yes?”

“Time for a break,” Combeferre called. “May I open the door and come in? You’ve been working alone in there for quite some time.”

“Come in,” Enjolras replied as Combeferre opened the door and led Grantaire in with him, though Grantaire would have felt more comfortable lurking in the doorway. Enjolras seemed slightly surprised to see that Grantaire had accompanied Combeferre, but it wasn’t a look of unpleasant surprise, which, Grantaire supposed, was a good thing.

“Have you finished?” Combeferre asked, sitting down on the edge of Enjolras’s unmade bed.

“Nearly done,” Enjolras answered him, having turned back to his computer as soon as he saw who had entered. “A few hundred more words, and it will be perfect.”

“How’s your shoulder?” Combeferre motioned for Grantaire to sit down as well, but he remained standing.

“Practically killing me,” Enjolras said. “But the pain will go away soon enough. Feels like it’s all in knots. And I know you’re going to say that I should go see a chiropractor, but the last time I went to the chiropractor when it felt like this, they told me I’d be better off going to a masseuse or having one of my friends massage it for me.”

“Well, it just happens that you’re in luck, then. Grantaire, who is our friend, also happens to be a masseuse, a fact of which you are well aware. He has generously offered you his services today. I think you should take him up on it.”

Grantaire looked at Combeferre with raised eyebrows. They both knew he hadn’t offered, but he supposed that Enjolras didn’t need to know that.

“I wouldn’t want to impose on Grantaire,” Enjolras responded. 

Combeferre glanced meaningfully at Grantaire, which Grantaire took to mean that he should be the one to respond to this.

“It wouldn’t be an imposition,” Grantaire replied quickly. “Not really. I do it for all of our other friends. So why not you? Especially if it hurts like that. Why don’t you just let me take a look at it, if you want, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Enjolras swiveled in his chair to look at him, frowning slightly. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s not a bother. Really,” Grantaire assured him. “C’mon. You can finish whatever it is you’re doing once I’m finished with your shoulder.”

Combeferre smiled at the two of them and stood up. “There you have it. I’m going to go back out.” He left the two of them alone, shutting the door halfway on his way out.

With Combeferre gone, Grantaire shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, debating whether or not he should go sit on the edge of Enjolras’s bed. He chose to remain standing. “Can I take a look at it? Your shoulder, I mean.”

Enjolras nodded, turning back to his computer for a moment and saving his progress.

“I’m surprised it was this easy to get you to stop,” Grantaire teased him. “Normally you fight for just five more minutes.”

Enjolras stood up, walking over to his bed and grimacing slightly. “You would not believe the pain I’m in right now. I think I must have rolled over onto it last night, but regardless of what I did, it’s worse than yesterday.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. Enjolras’s shoulder must really be paining him for him to say anything about it. Generally, Enjolras made no comment about his own health and well-being, and instead worried about others, asking them about themselves and deflecting questions about himself when asked directly if he was in any pain or ill. 

“I might be able to help,” Grantaire said. “Does it hurt when you’re sitting up?”

“It hurts all the time.”

“Would it hurt less if you laid down on your stomach?”

“Can’t hurt to try.” Gingerly, Enjolras lay down and rolled onto his stomach. “It’s the right shoulder,” he told Grantaire. “This is…slightly better than it is when I’m sitting up.”

“I’ll just have you lay like that, then,” Grantaire said, studying the Enjolras’s back. Unfortunately, Enjolras was wearing a rather heavy, oversized sweater. If he kept the sweater on, it would be harder for Grantaire to really get to his shoulder, and the feeling of the fabric being kneaded against his skin might be unpleasant. On the other hand, asking him to take off his shirt was nearly unthinkable. He could hope that Enjolras had put a t-shirt on underneath it, but he couldn’t be sure that this was the case. He could ask him to put a t-shirt on, but he was obviously in pain and taking off the sweater would cause discomfort enough. He suspected that he’d worn it in the first place for its warmth and size: it would be easier for Enjolras to pull over something that was bigger than what he needed it to be, rather than something that provided a closer fit. Grantaire cleared his throat. “Would you be able to, ah, take off your sweater? It’s just that it’s going to be hard to really get at your shoulder with it on. You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable,” he rushed to add. “It just might make it easier and more comfortable for you.”

Enjolras nodded against the pillows, raising himself up to shimmy out of the sweater and toss it on the floor. Grantaire was both dismayed and pleased to find that Enjolras had not been wearing another shirt underneath. Something had to be wrong with Enjolras today, Grantaire decided. He’d willingly left his project, he’d willingly taken off his shirt when Grantaire asked…he must be in a great deal of pain.

Grantaire settled next to the side of the bed on his knees, considering Enjolras’s shoulder. He reached out a hand to touch, then drew it back, and then reached again, unable to make up his mind.

“Tell me if it gets to be too much,” Grantaire said softly. “It’s probably going to hurt a bit at first, but I promise that it will feel better after a while, if you let me work at it.”

Enjolras muttered his assent, face muffled by the pillows of his bed.

“Right. Here we go.” Grantaire began, letting his hands wander over Enjolras’s shoulder for a moment, feeling the muscle beneath the skin. He stood up, bending over to better be able to place his hands on Enjolras. He set to work, gently working at the knots underneath Enjolras’s skin, trying to focus more on the way they shifted than the warmth of Enjolras’s skin, or the way he moaned softly when Grantaire had managed to work through a particularly troublesome knot. Grantaire flushed slightly, pulling his hands away as if he’d been burned when he heard the sound.

Enjolras lifted his head up from the pillows immediately, blinking up at Grantaire. “Why did you stop?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.

“I thought you were hurt,” he managed to say. “You made this noise, and I thought that maybe I’d hurt you.”

“Oh.” Enjolras frowned slightly. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It felt wonderful, actually. And I wasn’t aware that I made any noise. I’m sorry; I’ll try to be quiet so that I won’t alarm you again.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” Grantaire said too quickly. “Make all the noise you want.” To try and rectify this, he began rubbing Enjolras’s shoulder once again, and Enjolras let his head drop back down without protest or pushing further into Grantaire’s odd and (in Grantaire’s opinion) highly awkward response. 

Grantaire continued to work until he was satisfied with the way Enjolras felt beneath his hands. His shoulder felt better, at least as far as Grantaire could define such a thing. Perhaps he had continued to work longer than was strictly necessary, but Enjolras was obviously enjoying it, if the small noises he was making was anything to go by, and he knew that Enjolras would have asked him to stop had he wanted him to.

Feeling that he could really go on no longer without further excuse, Grantaire stopped, withdrawing his hands. He’d been somewhat looming over Enjolras to get the right angle to work at his shoulder, and as he pulled away, he couldn’t resist brushing his lips softly against this skin of Enjolras’s shoulder before pulling away. He hoped that Enjolras would believe it to be a final brush of his thumb.

Enjolras was as close to fully relaxed as Grantaire had ever seen him. “I, um, I’m finished,” he said awkwardly, standing up straight. “I hope it feels better. I worked it over and it feels better, well, I mean, to me it feels better, and you never stopped me to tell me it hurt, which I know you would have if it had hurt, so I hope it does feel better. And, um, I guess I’m done.” He turned to leave. “I’ll be out with Courfeyrac and Combeferre and everyone if you want to come join us when you’re finished. I know they’d like that.”

“Wait.”

Grantaire turned around, facing Enjolras now as he sat up from his previous prone position on the bed.

“Thank you. For doing that for me. It feels much better now,” Enjolras said, smiling slightly.

“Not a problem. My pleasure,” Grantaire answered, flushing slightly as he turned again and began to make his way towards the door.

“Grantaire?”

He stopped again, turned around. “Yes?”

“Did you…after you finished…” Enjolras shook his head. “No, never mind. It’s stupid.” He waved a hand as if waving away the thought.

Grantaire frowned. “What is it?”

“I told you, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Enjolras stood up, heading towards his desk chair to continue his work.

He didn’t want to let it go. “No, tell me. I promise I won’t think it’s stupid.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, still standing. “You promise?”

“I do. May God strike me down if I am lying.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I was going to ask if you kissed me. Well, if you kissed my shoulder. I’m sure it was just your fingers. I told you it was stupid.”

To Grantaire’s mind, Enjolras sounded slightly hopeful. “And if I did?” he asked softly, unsure of what had come over him.

Enjolras bit his lip. “You didn’t. So it doesn’t matter.”

“I did,” he blurted out, mentally kicking himself immediately afterwards. Everyone in their group of friends knew about his feelings for Enjolras. Everyone but Enjolras himself. And now he knew, and god knew what would happen now.

Grantaire had been prepared for everything but Enjolras crossing the room and kissing him softly on the mouth. He made a soft sound of surprise, opening his mouth slightly in the process, and Enjolras took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, one hand reaching to tangle in Grantaire’s curls. For a moment, Grantaire was unsure what he should do. He let his hands rest on Enjolras’s hips and pulled him closer, letting himself kiss Enjolras back.

Reluctantly, they pulled away from one another.

“You didn’t have to kiss me,” Grantaire joked. “I accept many other forms of payment, including Visa and personal checks.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again, and shoved him gently. “It wasn’t intended as payment. It was because I wanted to.”

“Because you wanted to?” Grantaire frowned slightly. “And you wanted to…because?”

“Because everyone but you knows that I have feelings for you.”

Grantaire blinked at him a few times, mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of something to say. “I…I think you’re describing my situation, not yours.”

It was Enjolras’s turn to look surprised. “You have feelings for me?”

“And everyone but you knows it,” Grantaire responded.

Enjolras nodded a few times, thinking. “Right. Well, I don’t exactly see the problem then. We have mutual feelings for each other, and so I kissed you.”

“Because you wanted to.”

“Because I wanted to,” Enjolras confirmed.

“Any chance you’d want to again?” Grantaire grinned.

Enjolras wanted to shove him, but he couldn’t shove him and kiss him at the same time. Instead, he settled for the latter, saving the former for afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Longest piece of fan fiction ever woo!


End file.
